


Hooked

by deltachye



Category: White Collar
Genre: Language, Other, Reader-Insert, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:43:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x matthew keller] [cancelled; no further updates]Thief, sex-addict, murderer — boyfriend. Which of these things is not like the other?





	1. i - Back by 12

_ _

* * *

 

_”Hey, can I borrow your girl? I’ll have her back by 12:00, pops.”_

You jumped, nearly slicing open your patient’s lung as the familiar harsh accent echoed through your little underground lab. You whipped around in your creaky padded stool, the dark silhouette against your doorframe confirming your suspicions.

“Fuck,” you hissed to yourself. You clenched the scalpel in your hand.

“Eh, maybe later.” Matthew Keller pushed himself off your office’s door, stepping into your view deliberately slowly. His hands were stowed into his pants, but his grin gleamed ominously.

“Who’re you even talking to?” you asked warily, eyeing him for weapons — of course he would have weapons, but you’d like to know where they were.

“What, you ain’t happy to see me?”

“The only people happy to see you is the mob, and even then, they only want you dead or crying for mommy.” You scowled, turning away from him back to your client, whose head had lolled to the side into a puddle of his own drool. You quickly propped his head back up to a position where he wouldn’t choke to death in his saliva. “Goddammit, Steve.”

“Didn’t think you’d forget Polynesia so fast.” His voice was now a mumble into your ear. You shuddered. Jerking away from him, you back-peddled in your seat, seething.

“I don’t exactly _like_ to think about Polynesia. That country wasn’t the only thing that was mini, Keller.” You finally smiled when he frowned, straightening up. He cleared his throat and looked down at your patient, attempting to switch subjects.

“Who’s this?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality. Can’t tell you. Also, if I _do_ yap, you’ll have to drag me up and out of the Atlantic.” You scooted back to your spot, glaring up at him, who was still too close for your comfort. “Back off. And pay for the lock you picked.”

“How much he payin’ you?” He didn’t move an inch, instead bringing his thumb up to his mouth, chewing on it absent-mindedly. Your nose wrinkled.

“…10 grand.” You looked back down into the gaping, bloody hole you’d been working on happily before Keller’d barged in. “Now if you’d please…”

A gunshot made you jump again, letting out a small shriek of surprise. The scalpel dropped into Steve’s great abyss of a lung cavity, but he probably wouldn’t mind, judging from the steaming hole in his temple.

“…Okay, considering how much organs can get you in South Korea, I’ll probably get… 1.5 mil, now.” You shook your head slowly while snapping off your latex gloves. “ _If_ I can get away from the Costellos in time. Thanks a lot, asshole.” You stared up at him angrily, your long eyelashes fluttering.

“Already asked you to come with me, didn’t I?”

Your eyebrows shot up suspiciously and your actions froze. “What, you kill my patient and you want me to go be your bitch?” You scoffed, turning away to dispose of your gloves. “Fuck, no.”

“He was a real eyesore, this Steve. I was doing you something of a favour. Now, you owe me, right?” His playful tone pissed you off, and when you turned back around he was spinning the revolver around his finger.

“That’s not how it works.” You looked up at him, clasping your hands in your lap. “I know what it’s like to work with you. I know what it’s like to get double-crossed. If you want sex, go buy off a call-girl. I’m not yours.”

His thumb was back in his mouth again. His eyes turned to the sky, before flicking down back at you, a smug gleam reflected in the dark irises. “True, I’m something of an addict. But that’s not what I want from you.”

“Wow, Keller doesn’t want sex?” you pretended to cover your mouth in awe. “Better go check if the pigs are flying!”

What happened next was quick. You didn’t even know what _had_ happened until you heard your stool slam into the wall on the opposite side, your back crushed into a shelf. You wheezed as Keller’s arm tightened around you, and winced as a hot gun muzzle pressed into your skin.

“See, the opportunity I’m goin’ to give you is better than seeing a hunk of meat takin’ off.” His voice was low and raspy, his scent reeking with musk, his strength inescapable.

“Oh, yeah?” you replied quietly, your ribcage slowly getting crushed by his weight.

“You’re with the Italians now; I can put you in with the Russians. They like girls like you. ‘ll pay you more than a measly 10 grand for bandaging up their ‘Steves’." His face was so close to yours, you could feel his warmth against your cool skin. You shivered.

“…well, now, do I even have a choice?” your eyes flashed with grudging acceptance, and he backed off, tossing the gun into the trash and allowing you to breathe. Your inhalations were shaky.

“Welcome to the crew, bitch.” He spiked a grin, thrusting his thumbs into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet, like a child. “Wasn’t that hard, innit?”

You rubbed your bruised chest, glowering. “Help me get rid of the body, will you? I’m going to have to shut down my business and pick up my go-bag.”

“D’you flip a coin for the ‘man lost at Atlantic ocean for days’, or ‘freak accident’?”

“I’ll settle for just taking the fucking coin, thank you very much.”


	2. ii - I Think the Room is Bugged.

_”I think the room is bugged.”_

“Well, no shit. It’s a mafia office. You don’t just walk into the _Bratva_ without being scrutinized first.” Keller used his pocketknife to dig out grime from under his fingernails. His eyes were shaded by the hat he wore, and you knew it wasn’t just for style. He knew there’d be cameras and helpfully decided to not let you know. You scowled.

“Oh, believe me, I’ve been scrutinized far more than was necessary.” You shot a look back to the guard at the front door, who was still staring directly at your ass, a distracted smile on the brute’s ugly face. 

“Keller, Keller. I see you bring gifts!”

The heavily accented voice brought your attention up, and then more up, to stare at the gigantic mountain of man. His suit bulged at the waist, an expensive looking belt buckle ornately decorated above his crotch, which also unfortunately, bulged. You immediately directed your gaze skywards again. 

“Hello,” you greeted politely after the two men had exchanged bone-crushing hugs, slapping each other on the back. You extended a hand, only to be pulled into a hug — and yeah, it was bone crushing. You definitely heard your shoulder pop. Keller snickered.

“He says you are best doctor underground.” He placed you back on the ground, where you clutched your duffel bag like a lifeline, struggling for breath. 

“You heard right,” you coughed out, smiling weakly. 

“Very nice! Brains _and_ body. One of a kind!” his roaring laugh rumbled in your chest, and you nodded along slowly, hoping to god he wouldn’t just shoot you down with the gigantic gun strapped to the man’s belt. The family leader slammed his hand down on your shoulder, and started to lead you into the gigantic office. “My wife, all body. Very nice, very good, but when I try make plan, she only goes to make borscht!”

“Mm. Borscht. Very good.” You gave a look to Keller, pleading, but he was too busy stifling his own giggles. Bastard.

“Hm? Breasts? Yes. Very good,” the man said wistfully.

“I can drink to that, Arlov,” Keller jeered, tagging along behind. You sighed, and looked up to the camera gleaming mischievously in the high-beams.

Something told you that the mafia’s new ‘leetle sees’ wasn’t going to have a shred of privacy.


	3. iii - I'm Not Surprised.

_”I’m not really surprised that you murdered him.”_

You looked down at your newest patient, an old man with a bullet caught in his teeth. That being just a saying, his predicament was truthfully this: a shattered bullet knocked out all his front teeth before lodging itself deep into his throat, where he had bled and choked to death in agony. You looked further down the body, and then grimaced.

“Did you really have to shoot him _there_ , too?”

Matthew only smiled, pocketknife midway through a red pear. He tossed a piece of the crisp, sweet flesh into the air, catching it in his mouth. “Thought I’d leave you a lil’ surprise.”

You sighed loudly, pulling the glove taut around your hand. “I didn’t sign up for digging bullets out of old people.” You paused, and then bitterly added, “then again, I didn’t sign up at all…”

Matthew barked out a laugh. “Yeah? Well now you’re here, girlie. Can’t say anything, can you?”

“Yeah”, you muttered, sticking your hand into the John Doe’s mouth, “sucks.”

“Look, maybe you’ll get on the next job or somethin’.” The scraping sound of peeling fruit was quiet in the expansive, metallic room — a definite upgrade, seeing as he was muted in the background of your work. 

“Hm.” You ignored him, queuing up his words for later reconsideration. It was a habit to deal with multitasking, and when you managed to pull the last scrap of bullet out, you heard him. You turned to face him. “Really? You’ll take me out on a job?”

“Whoa, who said _I_ was going to bring you with me? Nah, you’d just get in the way.” He crunched away at the core of his fruit. “Just sayin’, you do good, you can get out of the lab.”

You deflated, rolling your eyes. “Damn right I’m getting out of here. If I pull jobs, I don’t have to touch wrinkly old dicks anymore.”

“No promises.”


	4. iv - He couldn't have died...

_“He couldn’t have died at worse time.”_

The boss rubbed his temples with meaty fingers, the skin wrinkling under them in fascinating shapes. You looked away from that.

“Yeah. I’m very sorry about your…” you flashed a look to your left.

‘Brother,’ Matthew hissed, leaning against the wall, covering his mouth with a hand.

“Brother. Very sad.” You shook your head remorsefully.

“There was nothing you could do?” he looked up, and the vulnerable question was incredibly frightening out of the mob leader’s mouth.

“No, Mr. Goraya, I’m afraid his brain aneurysm was undetectable. The was no way you could’ve prevented it from happening.” 

The big man heaved a sigh, before turning to stare at you in the eyes. “None of this Goraya, you are Goraya now. I am Arlov, to you.”

You raised your eyebrows just a hint. Whoever heard of Russian mobsters being so open?

“…okay. Arlov.” 

Satisfied, the mobster leaned back in his puffy chair. “That damn idiot, he was meant to do multi-million heist. Bah. Brain anooreesum? More like easy-way-out. Arlov does not like slackers.” The old man rumbled to himself menacingly, cracking the knuckles deep inside the flesh of his gigantic hands. He looked at you, and you made the connection immediately. 

“Oh. You want me to go in his place.”

“All Andrei’s role was to distract. You are very good distraction.” He eyed you like a piece of art — in other words, too closely, and for too long. You shifted in your seat.

“I’m just a family doctor,” you countered, but it was done. You were officially bumped out of the nest, into the raging flames. 

“Great. Finally got a decent pair o’ tits on the team,” Keller snickered, elbowing you once you’d shakily stumbled out of the office.

“Shut up,” you grumbled.


	5. v - What's In The Bag?

_”What’s in that bag, and why are you hiding it here?”_

You placed a hand on your hip, the other clenching the hasty knot on your towel, water painstakingly dripping down your still-warm body. Matthew Keller froze, a hand still on the duffle bag he was stowing under your bed. He flashed a snaky, easy-to-hate grin.

“Ah. Fancy seeing you here.”

You scowled, shifting your weight. “Ha, ha. _What’s in the fucking bag_?”

He raised his hands, rising from the ground slowly. He casually put his thumbs in his trouser pockets, staring at you, and nodded appreciatively. You snapped your fingers. “The _bag_. If I hear one boob comment from you, I’ll just kick your dick in.”

“Chill, chill. They’re just tools for the heist.” 

Your face wrinkled. “Why are you dumping them onto _me_?”

“Andrei was going to sneak them in, but now that he’s been—” he paused to draw a line across his throat with a flourishing click of the tongue, “— _you’re_ going to be the mule.” 

“I’d call myself _at least_ a muscular, black, Arabian stallion,” you muttered to yourself, padding over to the bad in your slippers. You peered down into it, not wanting to bend over to give Keller the nosebleeder’s view. “How do I get it in?”

“Well, I can show you,” Keller remarked like a thirteen year old boy, his smug smile crooked with his own joke. You weren’t amused. “Fine — Andrei was going to ditch the bag and stuff the kit up his ass.”

“What?!” You were following until that last part. He burst into guffaws, holding a stitch in his side, and you sighed. 

“You’re adorable.” He reached over and pinched your cheek, making you flinch away from him. You rubbed the reddened flesh, annoyed, as he recollected himself. 

“You want me to bring the kit in my dress?” you asked, combing your fingers through your tangled hair. You hadn’t had a chance to brush it before Keller had picked the lock on your room and busted in, as usual. 

“Sounds about right. I’ll leave you to it.” He took a last glance at your breasts before leaving. You sighed, sitting on the bed once he’d left, and unzipped the duffel. You whistled lowly.

“No way _that’s_ going up my ass…”


	6. vi - Should I Be Scared Now?

_”Am I supposed to be scared now?”_

You let Keller zip up the back of your dress. Your fingers were stiff from clenching a scalpel all day, so you were forced to allow the creep to touch you. You watched carefully in the full-length mirror you stood in front of. A tongue darted out to lick his lips as he wiggled the small metal zipper in the back of your silky, red dress.

“It ain’t your first job, but if you’re scared then that’s your business. Russians can smell it.” He paused. “Fuckin’ — why didn’t you just get a bigger dress size?” He yanked at the zipper aggressively. 

“It was from Arlov,” you scowled, batting his hand away, craning your neck to assess for any damage. “Which means it was really goddamn expensive, so it’d be nice if you didn’t rip it up.” He rolled his eyes in the mirror.

You managed to give it the last tug. “Now, can you do the clip for me?” You let him try to figure out the fastener as you rummaged through your box of jewellery, picking out the most blingy piece of shit you could find. He obeyed your last command, and his fingers were gentle. A light click signified his job was done. You held up a necklace.

“Does this make me look like I’m a cougar trying to score?” you asked, placing it against your skin. You saw him scoff and look away, brushing a hand through his already tousled hair. 

“I came here to ask if you had the equipment ready, not to give you fashion advice.” He straightened his tie, peering into your mirror past you. 

“Wait, you’re doing it wrong,” you noticed, turning around. You placed a nimble hand on his arm, lowering it. “If you do that, it’ll bunch up,” you explained, tugging on the dark satin string with care. “So you gotta do it like _this_ …”

He stared down at you the entire time — your heels were lying by the door, so the nearing 6 footer was able to brush his chin atop your head. You looked up when you were done, fingers lingering on the soft material.

“How long would it take t’ get you out of that dress again?” he asked lowly, his voice dipping into a dark husk. Your eyelids fluttered, and there was an eternity as you breathed.

“…too long.” You turned away and grasped a random diamond pendant, securing it around your neck. You slipped past his figure, kneeling to collect your shoes. When you turned around, his brow was furrowed with confusion, his gaze still on the floor where you’d been before.

“Scared, Keller? C’mon, let’s move.” Your voice tinged with a bit of guilt, and you immediately hated yourself for it. You left the room.


	7. vii - An Affair To Fix A Marriage

_”How, exactly, did you think an affair would help our marriage?!_

Your voice was shrill. The attention of everybody immediately centered on you, like a locator latching onto prey. 

“Whoa, lady, calm down!” your target held up his hands to usher you, looking around nervously with an awkward smile plastered onto his face. “I-I don’t know you…”

“Is that what you said to _her_? That you didn’t know me?!” your hysterical tears ran down your face, smudging mascara and eyeliner with it. “We were married! In love! For 12 years! I… I’m pregnant!”

“Oh, shit,” one of the audience members muttered, causing a chain reaction of whispers. The man was now anxiously staring around, realizing that with every word his business kingdom was crumbling. 

“Th-that’s not true!” he cried out to the party members, still refusing to look at you. “She’s crazy! That’s not my wife!”

“Don’t lie anymore, Christopher,” you hissed. You surged forwards, a champagne glass frothing in your hand. You smashed it onto Chris’ white suede shoes, the glass and wine exploding up in a random shower of glitter. You smashed a glass exhibit beside you, too, setting off a barrage of alarms and buzzers. There were a few screams in the back, but it only became more heated when Christopher lunged for your throat. You sidestepped it, tripping over a stranger behind you, dropping your clutch in the chaos. People were pulling you back now, comforting the poor woman who was cheated on by the billionaire CEO. 

“She’s not my wife! I swear to it!” he was raving, jerking against the burlier party guests who were holding him back. “Check her! Her bag! She’s not my wife!”

“Yeah, pal. She your mistress, then?” a scruffier man grunted. He looked at you. “Alright, Miss?”

“I-I need to… I need to get away.” You were choking back sobs, stumbling away from the glass exhibit of gemstones, rubbing your cheeks. “I can’t do this anymore!”

The female guests were shushing you, placing random hands on your arms and giving you an ugly fur jacket. Security swarmed around Christopher, his yells reverberating around the expansive ballroom. After a few more seconds of quiet reassurance, from old ladies desperate to get close to the action in order to report back to their own friends, you asked to be excused to the washroom. You peered back behind you when entering the hall, before making an unexpected right down the fire-exit. The alarm was already tripped, the door propped open with a familiar pocketknife. You slipped outside to the cool American night, slipping the knife into your bra, where it was well hidden. You smiled.

Poor Christopher.


	8. viii - See The News Yet?

__

_”Have you read the news?”_

You peered over your cup of Arabic coffee from Yemen. “No. What’s up?”

“‘bout this guy’s phony wife. Crazy chick claims to be knocked up and punches a buncha’ shit before running. Funny, hm?”

You split a grin. “Yeah. I think I heard that. Wasn’t there something… stolen?”

Keller slid into the chair across from you, pulling sunglasses off his face. He squinted before blinking, the New Yorkan sun bright in the unshaded café. 

“No pictures, though. All the security feed was cut, wires sliced through with a knife, looks like. Would ya’ believe?”

You finally laughed. “Oh, shut up.” You took another sip, eyes returning down to your book, although a warm smile graced your features. The heist _had_ been fun.

“Arlov liked you. So did a lot of people. Good work.”

You looked up at him again, mid-sip. You smiled again. “Well, did you?”

He didn’t reply, only pulling something out of his jacket pocket. You glittery, gold clutch. You took it back from him, tucking it into your lap. He held his hand out, and you realized what he wanted.

“Nuh-uh. First heist! I’ve got to keep my spoils,” you said teasingly, placing your cup back onto its saucer. He frowned slightly.

“You bitch,” he murmured quietly, gazing out into the crowd of bystanders, who were chattering about needless trifles of life. You smirked, uncrossing your legs and standing. 

“That, I am,” you taunted with a wink, before merging into the stream of the busy sidewalk. Keller looked down at the quaint little table, before realizing what you’d done. He hastily scrambled out of the chair and slipped into a group of briskly-walking men, just as the waitress screamed for him to come back.

No fuckin’ way was he going to pay for your meals.


	9. ix - The Way You Flirt

_The way you flirt is shameful.”_

You swivelled to look behind you, your arms still raised from taking down your ponytail, your pants already in the laundry basket. You weren’t really surprised to see Keller leaning against your door — in fact, you didn’t bother to lock it any more, because it was more annoying to hear the scraping of him picking it than to just have to damn thing fly open. 

“What, you think I’m always here for _you_? That’s vain.” He was chewing on a piece of gum, white, the smacking noise already touching your nerves. He looked down, directly at your ass, which left nothing and everything to the imagination through the tight satiny cloth. He grinned, wide and toothy. “Looks like you were waiting for me, though, eh girlie?”

“Fuck off, Keller,” you sighed, tossing your hair back. It curled oddly from the elastic. Your scalp was kind of sore from the intensive pull, but you were even more tired from your surgery. You’d just managed to save some vague Russian man’s life, but you bitterly wished he’d have just passed so you wouldn’t have had to sit there for hours, painstakingly cauterizing arteries and pumping him full of drugs when he almost died. You were halfway to peeling off your bloodstained sweater before remembering Keller, and turned around, arms crossed with your hands on the hem. “What part of ‘fuck off’ do you not understand?”

“The ‘off’ part.” He stepped towards you, dodging the clothes you’d left on the floor, making eye contact with you through your mirror. You watched hesitantly. But you were drunk — something you couldn’t deny as you accidentally swayed to the left. 

He first placed his hands on your cold shoulders, slipping them under your cardigan, and you couldn’t help but relax with a sigh. Your stiff posture from sitting in a chair definitely needed to be rolled out. He leaned forwards and let his arms hang off your shoulders, like he was going to get a piggy back from you, pulling you close. His body emanated warmth.

“I have to shower, Keller.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been working on a body for the last 4 hours.”

“Yeah?” Your sweater was already half-off. 

“I’m still covered in blood.”

“Yeah-huh.” 

“…that’s not a gun in your pocket, is it?”

“Hm.” His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, tongue lazily drifting across the plane of your sensitive skin. “You goin’ to stop me?”

You sighed, closing your eyes. His fingers worming into your muscles wasn’t something you could just pass up... you leant into his face gently, where he bit down onto your skin, flooding your nerves with an awfully exhilarating sensation. 

“Just get me another shot of vodka.”

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: http://deltachye.tumblr.com/post/146660606826/hooked-ma-language-murder-crude-humour-reader


End file.
